THE SUNDAY SCHOOL.
Group after group are gathering.—Such as prest
Once to their Saviour's arms, and gently laid
Their cherub heads upon his shielding breast,
Though sterner souls the fond approach forbade;—
Group after group glide on with noiseless tread
And round Jehovah's sacred altar meet,
Where holy thoughts in infant hearts are bred,
And holy words their ruby lips repeat,
Oft with a chasten'd glance, in modulation sweet.—
Yet some there are, upon whose childish brows
Wan poverty hath done the work of care,
Look up, ye sad ones!—'t is your Father's house,
Beneath whose consecrated dome you are;
More gorgeous robes ye see, and trappings rare,
And watch the gaudier forms that gaily move,
And deem perchance, mistaken as you are
The "coat of many colors" proves His love,
Whose sign is in the heart and whose reward above.
And ye, blest laborers in this humble sphere,
To deeds of saintlike charity inclined,
Who from your cells of meditation dear
Come forth to gird the weak, untutor'd mind,—
Yet ask no payment, save one smile refined
Of grateful love,—one tear of contrite pain,
Meekly ye forfeit to your mission kind
The rest of earthly Sabbaths.—Be your gain
A Sabbath without end, mid yon celestial plain.